


Something Involving Arson

by Khemi



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Arson, M/M, dirkjohnweek 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:25:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk is a security guard. John has a score to settle.</p>
<p>Arson is, inevitably, involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Involving Arson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ribbontype](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribbontype/gifts).



> _Day 2: fanworks inspired by a song but only cascada songs_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I took _[Pyromania](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EsdXPPp8dNk)_ and ran with it, straight into a wall. Swaggie Jay [prospt](http://prospt.tumblr.com/) also had a hand in inspiring whatever this is.

Taking a security job at a cookie factory hadn’t exactly been Dirk Strider’s optimum choice of employment.

He had had dreams, of course, _deservingly_ so, of taking his various robotics and engineering qualifications and putting them to use on some great scientific project or other that would doubtless lead to him being heralded as a hero in his time, one of the great limit-pushers of the modern world. Perhaps NASA would want him designing the next level training simulators they pitted astronauts against to prepare them for inevitable hostile alien encounters? Perhaps CERN would snap him up and have him designing a particle accelerator that included a few loops and a sick grind before theoretical physics high-fived itself into spiralling existence?

He already had a stellar resume, a series of successful papers under his belt that seemed frankly ridiculous in his mid twenties. He was _going places,_ he was going to change the world, and no one could stop him but himself!

Unfortunately, _himself_ was _very_ keen on doing exactly that.

Hal had been smart enough to cover his tracks neatly, using all manner of proxies and encoding to encrypt his personal involvement in Dirk’s repeated call failures, file corruptions, and mysterious emails in Dirk’s name and manner declining jobs he’d actually intended to _take._ The chances of it being anyone _but_ Hal sabotaging Dirk were so frankly miniscule that even Hal would struggle to calculate them- He _could_ however calculate with infuriating ease that _it seems, Dirk, the amount of empirical evidence you have against me remains a solid zero._

So Dirk had started widening his net, trying for more and more jobs with varying success. If Hal was dictating his eventual career, so be it! Dirk would see what Hal would accept and then run with it to levels never seen before, make the most of his own coded backstabbing and turn it back on the digitised smug reflection that was intent on ruining his life.

Security at a cookie factory wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

He didn’t even _know_ half of what Hal had put on his resume to get him in here, beyond the fact the other guards looked at him with a fearful respect and incredulity not really deserved by the socially inept robotics student donning their uniform with ongoing resignation. Knowing the sort of fanciful tales he was prone to, Dirk wouldn’t have been shocked to learn he was an ex-Secret Service agent who had retired after taking a bullet for the President, whose youth was caused by some tragic illness causing him to remain eternally barely post-pubescent.

It had been two weeks and no one seemed aware he wasn’t whatever he’d been sold to them as. They rarely approached him beyond respectful check-ins and shift changes, and honestly? He was _fine_ with that. He got paid for standing around, alone, arguing with his own glasses and hating the circumstances that had brought him to this moment. It was like getting a paycheck for continuing his typical miserable existence, which was better than _not_ getting a paycheck for it.

The best part of his new job standing behind a fence and admiring the moon when Hal shut up long enough for him to see it was the fact absolutely no one was around to bother him, never would be, and honestly, what sort of _cookie factory_ even needed this much security?

It was an easy job, and he’d make the most of it.

He knew what he was doing.

Nothing could go wrong.

.:.

There was a man on the other side of the fence.

He’d been standing staring at Dirk for a good few minutes after emerging from the trees, and Dirk stared back, nonplussed by the appearance of a suspendered asshole whose bewildered expression was matched in idiocy only by the height of his waistband. Their combined confusion had apparently rendered them both unable to move or otherwise communicate, as for far too many long moments they stood blankly gawping through the metal links, two men divided by a steel wall and by silence.

Then Mister Suspenders smiled.

Dirk had a horrible feeling about that smile. It was the sort of grin that somehow held all the negative qualities of a smirk, a wild expression of _I’m about to fuck you and the horse you rode in on and by the time you’re ready to stop me I’ll be balls deep._ Roxy wore it sometimes when she’d been plotting with Hal, Jane kept it badly hidden beneath her moustache just after Dirk had taken a mouthful of cake he would shortly realise had been laced with something foul.

Jake had attempted it, once. That had been more of a grimace at best.

But Suspenders wore it like a King wore a crown, all consuming in the warning it contained. Whatever was about to happen, it was something Dirk very definitely didn’t _want_ to happen, and it was probably _far_ too late to stop it.

Suspenders drew a cake box out of his jacket, despite the illogical lack of space to contain it. He placed it very purposefully on the floor, opening it up so Dirk could see the beautifully iced cake inside, and just as Dirk opened his mouth to enquire why on earth he was carrying a cake around, Suspenders promptly pulled a whole jerrycan out from inside his belted pants and wiggled it eagerly at Dirk’s suddenly concerned expression.

“Alright the cake I’d give you, maybe, but how the _fuck-_ ”

“Shh!” Suspenders unscrewed the can carefully, then tipped it up, watching a good amount of crude-smelling gasoline glug out in quick splashes over the recently deposited confectionary. “I’m making a statement.”

“Hey, dude, if you’re gonna burn that I’m gonna have to stop you.”

“Why? I’m on public land.”

“That doesn’t-”

Suspenders reached behind his ear and produced a lit match.

“Oh my God.” Dirk took a step backwards, raising his hands warningly. “This is so fucking stupid, who comes out here to burn a _cake,_ what the fuck is _wrong_ with you?”

“It’s a statement!”

“Is the statement, _I’m fucking ridiculous and probably need some kind of help?_ Because that’s the vibe I’m getting, my man.”

“No! The statement is _this is only the beginning._ Jeez! The cake says that and everything!”

Dirk peered through the bars.

“So it does. Tell me, how will anyone read that once it’s melted into a pile of sugary destruction?”

“They won’t!” Suspenders beamed. “But you’ll tell them, _duh!_ ”

“Hey now I ain’t complacent in any weird fiery message sending, find another lackey to do your ash-coated dirty work.” Dirk started to move forward again, reaching for the taser on his belt. “You can still put the match away. I can see you hesitating- There’s still time for you to fix this.”

“I’m not hesitating.”

“Well you ain’t setting fire to shit either, so-”

“Because liquid gasoline isn’t inherently flammable in its base state! Come on, didn’t you do science?”

Dirk blinked at him.

“I’m giving it time to evaporate enough the fumes will go up easily. Fire starter 101! You never throw the match straight away, you’ve got to give it a moment, you know? Really let it age to perfection.” Suspenders swirled the match as it burned down close to his fingers, then gave a cheery smile. “And you’re clearly curious! You _want_ me to burn this cake.”

“What the fuck makes you say that?”

“Dude, you haven’t stopped me yet and I’ve been monologuing for _ages._ ” Suspenders nodded down to Dirk’s stationary hand, then laughed, snorting between guffaws. “Oh man, this is going to be better than I thought!”

With that, he’d flicked the match, and the air above the cake when up with an audible _fwoom,_ heat intense against Dirk’s face and making him cover it with his arm as he recoiled and finally snapped out his taser. He squinted through the smoke as the flames dropped, but the arsonist was gone, only his baked victim left to mark his presence.

Dirk watched the cake as the frosting darkened and ran down it, the whole thing shrivelling into a pitiful mess.

He reached for his walkie-talkie.

“Uh- Strider checking in. Do I ever have a story for _you._ ”

.:.

It turned out the story wasn’t as unbelievable as he’d assumed.

_Egbert,_ he’d been told, _turns up at least once a week, brings something new to burn, insists it’s the start of some huge vendetta._

If there _was_ a further plan, it seemed either Egbert was too distracted to go ahead with it, or that it involved the convoluted sacrifice of a yet unreached number of confectionaries before it could come to fruition. More than likely there wasn’t a plan at all- This was all some _really_ weird prank, or Egbert got his kick off bewildering local security guards with melting pastries.

“But the jerrycan thing, that’s bizarre as shit, right?”

_Oh, fuck yes. No one knows how he does that, gave ol’ Jimmy a breakdown trying to figure it out._

Dirk had no idea what to make of any of this.

He headed home in something of a daze, still trying to puzzle out precisely what he’d witnessed. Once a week- _for about a year, honestly. I’m surprised no one warned you._ And he’s never said why? _One time he said that sweet Miss Crocker deserved it, but that’s hardly fair._

Miss _Crocker_?

_Yeah, I know we’re under a different label but Miss Crocker bought this place a few years ago, we’re under the umbrella of her label- Scooped up in her spoon, as she puts it._

He waited until his apartment was locked before he rang Jane.

“I need your help.”

“Dirk,” she replied instantly, “if you’ve gotten yourself caught in the oven _again_ somehow, I’m not going to fix it, we spent long enough last time discussing the benefits of cooking oil as a lubricating agent that I’m well and truly _done,_ buster.”

“No-” He scowled at his fridge as he retrieved a Crush from it. “Hey, you promised we were never mentioning that shit again.”

“Apparently it slipped my mind in all the kerfuffle of you dropping me a line.”

Dirk sighed, trudging to his futon and dropping onto it as he cracked open his fizzing pick-me-up and took a long gulp. How did he even broach this conversation? _Hey, Jane, a dude lit a cake on fire in front of me today, that’s pretty weird, right?_

“I found out that nice factory I’m working for has your family name plastered all over the small print,” he tried instead. “Strange how that wasn’t up-front information, ain’t it?”

“I didn’t know you’re working for Nanna,” she answered, with more horror than surprise. “Wait, she _bought_ that factory? I thought she backed off, after-”

“ _-After-_? Come on, don’t leave me hanging, Jane. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“There was an _incident,_ Dirk, the last woman who owned it… She passed away rather suddenly. There was a scandal, everyone thought Nanna was in cahoots, that she’d set it all up so she could snatch the factory from the lady’s cold, dead hands like she’d been told to!” Jane huffed down the line, and he could hear her moving things about, no doubt searching out her _case notes._ “Listen, you’d best be out of there quick as can be, chum. I’m not trying to be a downer but that place is bad news!”

“So far the worst it’s done is make my hair smell of singed frosting and light my shoes on fire.”

“Hm-” Jane gave the affirmative sound of someone who was absolutely not listening, whistling triumphantly and leafing through what sounded to be a much larger stack of papers. “Here we go! This mystery’s been snapping at my heels for years, keeps coming up just when I think it’s gone cold! Let me see, let me see…”

“I’m not sure investigating your own family for murder is most people’s choice of hobby,” he said casually, sipping sweet orangey relief to wash out the final traces of smoke in his throat.

“Yes, well! Most people don’t have _my_ family. Between the apparent inability to age and the _likely head of a criminal empire_ thing, I think I’m well in my rights to investigate! There’s a cover-up at every turn, Dirk, I can _taste it._ ” Jane paused, sighing. “...And I have been talking to Terezi _far_ too much.”

“That’s that Private Investigator you hired to trail your own great-grandma, right?”

“She is doing a necessary job to help uncover a conspiracy, and it might be a tough nut to crack, but I’m _going_ to crack it!” Jane snapped her fingers. “ _Here._ Tragic report… Sixty year old found dead in her kitchen… Most of the report is missing, I couldn’t find it online, but it was all _very_ suspicious, I assure you!”

“Gonna be honest, Crocker. I wasn’t expecting this much information dropped on me like a ton of expositional bricks.”

“Well sometimes people just have things worked out, Dirk! Not all of us are wasting out time bickering with our glasses about why Stephen Hawking hasn’t come knocking to offer us a personal apprenticeship.”

“Hey! That’s a _great_ question and I’m going to keep fucking asking it until Hal admits what he did!”

“Of course you are.” Jane sighed. “At least you’re also asking some _genuinely_ interesting questions!”

“You’re just excited at the chance to tell someone how your family is a despicable hive of scum and villainy.”

“No, I’m not! Just _her._ Witch that she is, walking around with enough plastic surgery she contains more silicone than her kitchen aids.” He could hear the scowl down the line, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Just be careful, Dirk, or better yet get out of there, like I said! This won’t end well. I can _feel_ it.”

“Jane, please.” He set his bottle down, already typing to Hal, _I need you to look something up for me._ “You know I’d never do anything reckless.”

Jane’s laugh almost drowned out the irritated alert of Hal serving the article up a heartbeat later.

“Dirk,” she said down the line, not noticing he’d stopped paying attention. “Just… Try not to fuck up _too_ bad, alright?”

He hung up before she got a reply.

.:.

Egbert was back a week later, pulling a stack of donuts out from under his hat one by one and setting them up in a tower as Dirk watched and figured out how to broach the topic of conversation he’d been rehearsing since it came to light. The frosting was gluing the tower into a crude replica of Pisa, and Egbert seemed very intent in making sure it stayed upright, sucking his fingers clean each time he finished straightening it.

“So,” Dirk said at last, crouching on the other side of the fence. “You’re John, right?”

Distracted eyes flicked up to his face.

“Who told you that? Have you been stalking me? That’s pretty creepy, dude.”

“I was looking a few things up, came across a name.” Dirk hummed. “Am I right?”

“...Are you threatening me?”

“I wasn’t intending to. What would I do without our weird weekly over-baking sessions? Stare at a fence all night? Unlikely.”

John stood up, hands vanishing behind his back for half a second before returning with the jerrycan that defied all rules of reality. He started pouring it over his latest creation, and Dirk watched each glistening wave of oil drip down the layers of sugar, mesmerising in its disgusting descent.

“Why were you looking me up?” The can vanished back wherever it had come from, and the lit match came from John’s sleeve this time. “That’s _still_ pretty creepy.”

“You were trying to send a message,” Dirk reasoned, “but I didn’t have enough information to figure out what.”

“Maybe that’s because it wasn’t _for_ you!”

“You think Crocker’s listening to some burned cakes and donuts?”

John hesitated, watching the match in his hand instead of Dirk’s face, his teeth catching his lip. “...Maybe she’s not, but who cares! I’m doing this for _me._ ”

“I figured you were doing it for your grandma.”

“ _Nanna,_ ”John corrected, sharply, before scowling. “Ugh! Listen, whatever I’m doing here, can’t we just agree it’s petty and kind of dumb and I should totally be left to it? I’m not hurting anyone! Even if I _want_ to. I’m just…”

“Burning cakes.”

“ _Meaningful_ cakes.”

“Are they all that meaningful if they don’t achieve anything?”

John dropped the match, barely flinching at the burst of heat and fire between them and folding his arms as it died down.

“Okay, mister smart security guy. You clearly have a _way_ better idea! I _knew_ you were into this, and look, here we are and you’re going to tell me just what to do, and it’s going to be stupid, and then I won’t do it, and we can both get on with our lives.”

Dirk leaned forward, ignoring the heat that beat against his face.

“How much gas can you get?”

John gave him an offended look.

“An endless supply, duh. Well, not _endless,_ but if I run out I can just use Dad’s shaving cream because oh my God have you _seen_ how flammable that stuff is? Why does anyone put it on their _face?_ ”

“Can you bring it all next week? Say…” He glanced at his watch. “...An hour earlier?”

John’s eyebrows lowered. “Why? If you’re trying to scam me out of my shaving cream supply I won’t be fooled, mister! I’m onto your game.”

“You bring the fuel, I’ll bring the fire.” Dirk paused and tapped the badge on his lapel. “ _And_ the security clearance to get you the other side of this fence.”

“That’s a lie. You’re lying! I’m not an idiot.”

“It’s not a lie!” He bit back an exasperated groan, staring at John through the heat simmer of donuts turning to charred sludge. “Listen to me, I know you’ve got beef with Crocker and it’s _good beef,_ it’s some prime vengeance steak served medium rare with a side salad made from Eden’s leaf cuttings. I know what she did and I’d be pissed too- and I’ve got my own shit, shit that’s going to remain neatly tied up with a ribbon inside the bottle I suppress all my emotions inside like a healthy human being. I didn’t even know she owned this place but I ain’t giving her a day of my time that isn’t going to fuck her up.”

John’s eyes lingered on his face, curious and bright, before John gave another of those smiles, the _your shit is wrecked, I was the driver in the cab and the wrecking ball he swung_ smiles.

“You really _do_ hate her, don’t you?”

“Oh _yeah._ Big time. I’ve been waiting to serve her her just desserts on a platter for years and I figure if we work together we might go down for it, but it’d be worth it to send a message she’ll actually _hear._ ”

“What did she do to you?”

“Remember the bottle, John?”

“Yes! I’m grabbing that piece of trash and christening our revenge plot with it, smashing your feelings all over the side of the _Fuck This One Bitch In Particular._ ” He swung his arms to demonstrate. “So spill! You know my dark and tragic past, apparently, so I want to know yours. That is how friend ships set sail, Dirk. Through mutually assured emotional destruction.”

Dirk sighed, hating how much he wanted to smile.

“She fucked up my friend’s life,” he answered, simply. “I figure it’s about time she gets some shit fucked up in return.”

.:.

Despite Dirk’s concerns, John was there the next week, dragging a block of shaving cream cans Dirk was fairly certain shouldn’t have been even _remotely_ light enough to be moved by a human being. Once again, John managed regardless, pushing the hulking block down to the gate Dirk beckoned him towards and straight up lifting the block inside once it was open.

“Wow, you’re really serious about doing this,” John whistled as Dirk locked the gate again. “Did you bring your other part of the deal?”

Dirk reached under his bulky jacket, drawing out- with slightly less grace or mysterious use of inter-dimensional spaces- a dark roomba with a complex mechanism secured to it with duct tape, ending in a lighter.

“This is Hal. He’ll be serving as the fuse to our gentlemanly explosives.”

Hal beeped irritably, trying to swing the lighter up towards Dirk’s face and feebly flicking it on near Dirk’s shoulder instead.

“If he actually _does what he’s meant to,_ he gets a body out of this, so really, it’s a win-win all around.” Dirk stared until the lighter receded. “Cool, glad we have an understanding.”

“Right, a roomba that’s trying to kill you or something that you talk to. That’s absolutely what I was expecting.”

“Says the guy who was setting fire to cakes.”

“That- That had a _meaning._ ”

_Tragic news struck today as local baking legend was found dead in her kitchen at the age of sixty, apparently killed in an accidental fire after goods she was preparing for a charity bake-sale inexplicably ignited while she napped-_

Dirk nodded, curtly, shrugging as he raised Hal away from the Barbasol brick and nodded John to start following him. “Well, so does he, and it’ll remain just as mysterious and unspoken. This isn’t revenge on an asshole who set me up or anything! I’d _never_.”

“I guess this is the part where we both nod at each other in a weird bro way and agree to never talk about this again before we go commit a crime together and probably spend years of our lives in jail for it.”

“We could always do all of that but then go on the run, instead.”

“A cross-country escape from the long arm of the law… Two complete strangers shoved into a pick-up and racing from the retribution for their righteous crime…”

“It sounds like the setup for a lame action movie.”

“Can I be played by Matthew McConaughey?”

“Oh wow. No taste, on top of all your other positive qualities? How could I resist being shoved into a small space with you for a hideously long time?”

“You know hardly anything about me!”

“I know we’re about to burn a building down together. That feels… _binding._ ”

John nodded, dragging the block closer to their goal as Dirk stepped lightly ahead, scouting the route.

“Oh, it’s totally binding. We’re in it for life, dude! _Something, something, Vietnam,_ or whatever Dave would say. Just imagine it was _super_ long and stupid!” He snorted to himself at a joke Dirk didn’t get, pausing to watch as Dirk slowly opened one of the security doors, careful to make it silent. “Oh wow. Is this the engine room?”

“Yeah. Most of the machinery connects here- And we’ve got a half an hour slot no one is in here, for certain.” Dirk nodded John in. “Shall we?”

“We’re really going to burn this place down! Isn’t this the kind of thing that will ruin our lives forever?”

“Certainly is, bro. We’re probably going to jail.”

John nodded after a moment, pushing the block up against the softly whirring engines. “Cool! I can be a tough but soft-hearted convict, and you can be, uh, my sidekick! It’ll be great.”

“You’re the first person I’ve heard call prison _great._ ”

“Then I’m the first person you’ve met with my priorities straight!” John knelt, quickly spraying out enough Barbasol to form a flammable pile for Hal to trigger. “Okay. Now what? We just run?”

“And when he knows we’re a _safe distance,_ Hal sets off the sweet flames of deserved revenge, yeah.”

The roomba beeped, considering his options. Dirk made sure to put him down far enough they could outrun his sudden but inevitable betrayal, taking a breath before beckoning John. John lingered for a moment, looking around with a sense of wonder in his eyes, a thoughtful smile on his lips.

“You know- my Nanna built all this. She loved it here.”

“...Don’t back out on me now, John.” Hal was already moving. “It’s sort of too late for second thoughts.”

“Second thoughts?” John’s attention snapped to him, and he laughed as he followed Dirk out. “Fuck that! If my Nanna can’t have this, _no one can._ ”

They were running, then, running for the gate and freedom, running as Dirk pulled off his tracking badge and snapped it clean in two. Running and listening to the hush behind them, the sudden burst, the _roar-_

Heat hit their backs before they reached the gate and John leapt for it, scaling the links with ease and hefting Dirk up after him. Barbed wire nicked at their clothes as they leapt to the others side, finally pausing to look back at the rush of gold consuming the huge building the fence surrounded, the factory Dirk had paid little mind to until it was time to burn it to the ground. An alarm was sounding, somewhere close by, another somewhere distant, and a sudden loud explosion shot through the air as a plume of flames rocketed into the sky.

“Oh my God,” Dirk breathed, “we just set fire to a building.”

“Oh my God!” John jumped in place, hands balled into excited fists. “We just _set fire to a building!_ ”

John grabbed Dirk and held him up, smiling wildly at him. “ _We should totally do that again!”_

“Because a string of arson attacks on Crocker’s buildings-”

“Is _exactly_ what she deserves!”

They had nothing left to lose, did they? Jane was going to have a field day with this one, Roxy would kill him- Dirk stared down at John and realised that in wrenching control of his life back from his shades, he’d lost grip on it altogether.

“...As thrilling a proposal as that is,” he said slowly, “we should probably be running.”

“Oh! Yeah- _Yeah,_ the running thing, we should do that.” John dropped him without any ceremony, turning and then pausing one last time, turning and thrusting out his hand. “We, uh! We never actually introduced ourselves, Fire Buddy. I have _no idea_ who you are.”

“Dirk.” He took John’s hand, and John gripped his hand tight, shaking enthusiastically, or just with a strength no normal human was meant to possess. “And you’re-”

“I’m John.” He nodded, smiling like he was about to take on the world, drag it through hell and _win._

Becoming a vengeance-seeking fugitive after a spot of collaborative arson was not Dirk Strider’s optimum life goal.

John was running, and Dirk was running with him, and everything was a wild, thrilling blur that pounded in his heart as he finally caught the smell of smoke and fire on the air.

Whatever the plan had been, whatever his qualifications, his dreams, his assumptions, _this_ was where he’d ended up, running from a crime-scene with a man who was basically a stranger and the liberating feeling of absolute chaos making his expression crack into a totally inappropriate smile of his own.

Whatever the plan was _now,_ had a feeling it was going to be a very wild ride.

.:.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll answer every comment, thank you for reading, and... honestly, no, I don't know what this was either.


End file.
